A Long & Winding Road
by NotYourAverageStoryteller
Summary: After they bury her, James dies too. And then he finds something that makes him feel close to her, so he follows where she went, hoping that in finding these places he can find closure and perhaps let her go. But things never go to plan when James' heart is involved, so why would this?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So. Not my usual fare but I stumbled upon this little shipdom not long ago and have fallen in love with the quality stories. So I'm throwing my hat onto the ring. I'm not sure I've got their voices 100% down but I'm happy to hear about it either way.**

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended._

-0-

_Where the hell have you been?_

The words reverberated in his head.

Every waking moment he heard them.

It's why Madeline had left. It's why he'd left the Walther on Tanner's desk a year to the day he buried _her_. It's why he was sitting in the flat that used to belong to her, drinking vodka, of all things.

She'd be disgusted in him. But he couldn't bring himself to drink her Scotch, or really any.

Her every waking moment was spent devoted to the cause. But she'd missed something. Something important that he, himself, hadn't realised until she'd given her last breath.

_She _was the cause.

He'd have done anything for that woman. Kinkaide had called her Emily, but in his head, he knew her name. Had from the start, since she'd come home to find him shuffling cards on her side-table.

_Olivia._

She'd pushed him to be the best. From the minute they'd met and she'd never let up. From the bullet that nearly took him out, to Silva, to Blofeld. That had hurt the most.

He thought he could move on. He thought that he might be happy with Madeline. He was. For a time.

And then the nightmares had started.

They'd been nothing at first, just something that woke him and drew him from the bed where she lay curled up around him.

And then, they'd been something. Drenched in sweat, screaming. Calling her name.

It hadn't taken Madeline long to throw in the towel and he didn't blame her, not one bit. He couldn't love her.

Tanner had notified him about the apartment. He didn't have to, but he had and James was thankful for that, at least. He'd purchased it, well above market price and left it exactly as it was. Except for one small corner of the living room, where he slept on the floor. It was stupid really, but he knew she'd be pissed if she caught him on the furniture.

Like a dog.

He didn't know how long ago it was that he'd moved in. The days turned to weeks but it could have been months. It didn't really matter. Time had no meaning anymore. Occasionally, he'd wish he'd kept the Walther. It would have made things easier, undoubtedly. It would certainly be less long-winded.

The bottle he'd been drinking from was empty and he threw it. It bounced off the wall and landed with a thunk on the floor. It was only then that he heard the liquid inside sloshing and realised it hadn't been empty at all.

He was losing his mind.

He slid onto the floor and passed out, wishing for death but knowing that the sun would wake him in a few hours and it would all start again.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't know whether to just post all that I've got or spoon feed you a chapter at a time so I have time to get it further along? I have 7 chapters complete I think though one is short. Dunno. Guess I'll feel it out.**

_For disclaimer, see chapter 1._

-0-

He managed to run to the kitchen sink, throwing up all the vodka he'd consumed the night before. Gagging at the smell, he dunked his head under the water and once more realised that he was too old for this shit.

Standing up and squinting as the sun came through the blinds, he remembered he'd had some left in the bottle that had ended up in the corner of the room. He managed to shuffle over to it and bent down to pick it up. He wasn't conscious enough to know why he couldn't, but he paused with his hand just above it.

His pickled brain tried and tried to process but in the end, he growled and picked it up, sloshing some onto the floor in his haste.

Then he understood.

The liquid didn't pool, it slipped down the cracks. Into the floorboards.

That should have been impossible in a sealed floor like hers.

His brain was suddenly on full alert. He blinked and blinked again, dropping the bottle back onto the floor and falling to his knees. His pocket usually held a knife but he reached for it and found it gone. Without time to analyse why he didn't have one, he scrambled to the kitchen and grabbed the first he found. His body was pinging. Every nerve ending was firing. Every molecule was vibrating as he prized up the floorboards.

He gaped.

This was her escape plan. This tattered, ratty blue metal box. His heart crumbled as he jimmied the lock. It was all here. Her passport. Her _real_ passport. Her children, her late husband. Everything was here to make it easy to just go. He smiled, thumbing the passport photo. She was younger here, though she looked as he remembered her. Severe. Mysterious.

She had never smiled much.

But here, in the photos, surrounded by her children, some of whom he'd met at the funeral. She smiled.

He tried to imagine her as a mother. Was she soft? Caring? Kind? Of course, she was, because she was to him as well. Age had not softened her, only made those edges sharper.

He'd never wanted children, never seen the need. His job was dangerous and he didn't really have a nurturing bone in his body. Really, he wasn't even sure he would have liked to have seen _her_ as a mother. That wasn't who she was. Not to him. That's where Silva was wrong. It wasn't a Mummy thing, or whatever he'd said. It was something else. Something deeper.

Something in his soul.

He loved her.

Olivia.

He _loved_ her.

He broke, tears came unbidden to his cheeks and they rolled down his face and onto the filthy shirt he was wearing. He didn't try to stop them. He rubbed his finger on that passport photo and continued looking, sniffing as he tried to read the writing on a few letters and pieces of paper, ultimately finding them useless.

Then, he stilled. A series of photos with nobody in them.

Houses.

All of them.

He turned them over but there was nothing written on them. There were six. He could place a few in different countries. One in France, one, perhaps Greece or Italy. Another in Asia, perhaps China. She wouldn't go back to Hong Kong, he knew that for certain.

One, he frowned. Was a villa. On a beach. Wiping his face, he peered closer, spying something in the far corner. Something he couldn't believe was there. A hotel. One that he'd stayed at. A distinctive hotel.

Mexico.

He didn't think. He piled all of the things together and slid them into her briefcase that had laid on the sideboard for all of this time. He ran to his little corner, grabbing his own escape plan and looked around. He packed them all carefully in the case and set it by the bathroom door. The guest bathroom. He hadn't dared go into her room.

He wasn't stupid.

He showered, disgusted with himself when he saw the bloodshot eyes and the rather ratty beard he'd grown. Not months then, well. Maybe two.

He shaved quickly, tidying up behind him and pulled on a suit he'd saved. He wasn't sure why he'd left one, hanging on the back of the door. Maybe to remind him of what he was?

He didn't know, but he pulled it on, all the same, leaving the tie rolled up in his jacket pocket.

His mind was still foggy and fluffy and he hoped that it would pass in time. He needed to be sharp. He wanted to see what she'd seen. Been where she'd been.

He wanted to stand in her footsteps.

He smirked at himself in the mirror and stepped out, looking around for a final time. Her bedroom door beckoned and he grinned to himself.

He was stupid.

He peered around it, taking care to check for any random ordinance she'd left, just in case. He would 't have put it past her.

He stepped in, smiling as he saw her jewellery. Those awful pearl earrings she wore that he thought were too heavy and a bottle of perfume. He took a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut. He took one of her scarves from the closet door and set it on the bed, wrapping those earrings and another pair, along with her perfume and a brooch. Things he remembered her wearing. He wrapped it securely and slid it carefully into the bag. He'd probably have trouble getting in the airport, but it was also a secure case, so maybe he wouldn't.

Nodding once more, he locked up, dropping the key in the letterbox for Tanner to collect later. He didn't know what he hoped to achieve by leaving, but it was better than sitting in her flat drinking himself to death. A shrine to her existence. Maybe he'd get closer to her memory.

And then be able to let her go.

He called Tanner from the airport. He'd been on a bender for a month and a half but the man didn't seem surprised. He hadn't said where he was going but Tanner didn't ask either. He told Tanner to hold the flat for him. To make sure nobody sold it.

He'd promised quietly and hung up without another word.

He'd flashed his credentials when they queried what was inside. He didn't care what they were arguing about. The case was staying closed along with all the possessions in it.

Finally, he boarded. He sat, staring at the photo, rubbing his thumb on the picture of her face. Finally, as they crossed the Atlantic. He slept.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello fellow social distancers! What a glorious time we live in. I'm going to try and do a lot of writing this week, and next week and let's face it probably the week after as well. Stay out of public where possible, take care of each other and remember to breathe deeply (while you're at home!) and read your favourite fanfic between meditating and eating...pasta, baked beans and loo roll, I guess.**

**Love to you all.**

_See disclaimer, chapter 1._

-0-

It was hot. And he was in a suit.

He sighed as he got out of the rental. Once again he was reminded of what he had given up, now he was without a Quartermaster. Glancing around, he checked his holster and remembered, feeling stupid, that he couldn't carry one anymore. Not that it looked as though he needed one. The beach seemed to roll on for miles and miles in both directions and he could see why she picked this place. It was both beautiful and desolate. Not unlike the lady herself.

What he did do, was roll up his sleeves and leave his jacket in the car. He must have cut an odd figure to any lonesome crab watching as he walked across the sand in dress trousers and a crisp white shirt and tie, but he only had eyes for the little house by the beach.

It had bright blue shutters and a yellow and pink polka dot sun umbrella tucked into the corner of the balcony.

He laughed at the quizzical detail.

From the outside, it looked normal. A sofa, admittedly not a nice one. A kitchen table. A microwave. He jiggled the handle and found a new lock in place. They'd never been much of a problem for him and in no time at all, he was standing at the open door.

It was untouched. It looked as though nobody had ever been there, as far as he could tell. It was low-key. Like she was. He laughed into the dusty air.

He could imagine her here, a black, one-piece swimsuit and a sarong.

God she'd probably have a cocktail in her hand and a big, bloody, floppy hat to shield her pale skin.

_Where the hell have you been?_

He laughed and carefully stepped forward, trying not to disturb too much dust. He tucked the picture on the mantle, smiling as he did. She had set this place up. There was evidence of it everywhere.

He wondered if she'd done this when she became M. Or before. He knew nothing of her before but he didn't care to.

She was his M.

She would always be his M.

He drove back to civilisation and spent some time shooting tequila before he decided that it wasn't enough. He booked a flight to France and drank until he passed out on the sand, hoping he'd be awake before said flight in a few hours.

-0-

He spent a week, in France, finding the little flat she'd bought there.

It was the same as in Mexico. Caked in dust but evidence of her in every inch.

The night he'd found it, he'd taken a woman to his hotel. As soon as he'd let her in the door, he'd baulked and had thrown her right back out again. She shouted for a while, and though his brain translated it, he couldn't remember a word she'd said. He blacked out again after spending some time cleaning out the mini-bar and somehow managing to procure a bottle of vodka. He woke up again two days later, his hair oily, his skin sallow and his eyes dead.

_Olivia._

She had died and taken him with her. He knew that now. He left his hotel room that evening, stumbling through the city to the train station. He hadn't shaved and he probably looked homeless. Ordinarily, he hated public transport but as he stood on the platform, ignoring the looks and the whispers, he could see her riding a train, so he did.

He stayed on it until he reached the end of the line.

He had no clue where he was and he really didn't care. He would go to the next safe house. And the next. And the next. And when he'd finished? He'd end the suffering. He was already dead. His body just hadn't realised it yet.

This hotel was cheap and he didn't sleep in the bed for fear of being bitten by something.

Instead, he dragged the wooden chair out onto the patio and stared out at the city.

Tomorrow he'd find a way to get to Greece. He didn't suppose this town had an airport, but he could hire a car.

Or _borrow_ one.

He did so, threatening the clerk until he'd given him a good deal. Travelling on his own dime was not nearly as good as travelling with the Quartermaster planning your trip.

Speeding off down the road, his brain showed him every single memory of her that he had. He shook his head trying to clear it but it was only when he nearly careened into a gorge that he realised how messed up he was.

He napped and then drove on when he felt refreshed. Internet cafe after internet cafe was used until he had no other choice.

"Bond?"

"I need Q."

"Bond, I'm not authorised -"

"Tanner," he murmured. "I need him to find an address from a picture, that's all. No person, no body. Just an address."

"Send it through, I'll call back."

He thanked him and hung up. He had a hankering for a scotch but he recognised how all the alcohol was affecting him. He was sluggish. Slow. He had drunk too much all his life but here, in these moments, he could feel it. All the warnings he'd heard, all the quiet comments after his action reports of people warning him. They were finally catching up.

He lay in his new hotel room, the TV on for sound, and sweated it out. It wasn't pleasant but he was stronger than the shitty moments of oblivion he found at the bottom of the bottle.

She'd be disappointed with him if he let it beat him before he'd finished his task. Afterwards, he'd be dead and it wouldn't matter, but for now, he had a job to do.

Tanner called on the third day.

"What -"

"James, I -" There was a rustling. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he groaned.

"I've sent you a street name. Number 24."

"Thank you, Tanner."

-0-

It took three more days for the withdrawals to clear and another for the nausea to stop. He showered and pulled his suit back on. He'd had it cleaned in Mexico but hadn't put it back on. Now, for some reason, he felt like he needed to.

He was himself again. For now.

He pulled up a map of where he was and found himself quite close. Locking his bags in his car, he walked the few blocks to the little place, tucked in between a souvenir shop and a coffee shop.

That was hilarious. She hated coffee.

He waited for a lull in foot traffic before he slipped inside the little red door and stood, dead still while he categorised the sounds. It sounded clear, but he reached for his gun anyway. His skin was prickling.

Except once more, he was reminded that he wasn't a 00 anymore and he no longer carried a gun.

Rolling his eyes at himself, he walked up the stairs and ended up in a quaint little sitting room and it was only after a few seconds did he realise why it wasn't quite right.

This house was not dusty.

He dropped all pretence and looked around. Would she have rented this out to someone? Did her children know where her safe houses were? That seemed impossible. She did everything she could to remain separate from everything and the idea that they were holidaying there was laughable.

A movement caught his peripheral and he turned, his eyes going wide enough that he missed the vase coming down on his head. He dropped like a stone, with visions of a very alive M standing over him with the neck of the vase in her hand.

"007?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well, I'm having a less than a great day, so here's to you having a better one. It turned into mostly dialogue but I think maybe that works. Stay safe.**

_For disclaimer, see Chapter 1._

-0-

He woke up to her standing over him. He couldn't have been out long.

"Where the hell have you been?"

He stared at her until she clicked her tongue and poked him with her toe. He twitched.

"You're real?"

"Honestly Bond," she grumbled, turning to throw the rest of the vase away. "Have you lost your nerve?"

The white noise was so loud he winced. She was alive.

She was -

"Olivia?"

She stopped, turning to look at him closely as he stood.

"007?"

"You were dead," he muttered, getting up with a grunt. He took two steps towards her and she took one step back. "You were dead?"

"Tales of my demise were greatly exaggerated."

He didn't think, he reached forward and touched her. He breathed out so shakily that her face transformed into one of concern.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I -"

She was real. She was -

"Olivia."

"Bond, why don't you -"

He was kissing her. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't meant to just throw himself at her but he did and he was. Her hands smacking his chest woke him up pretty quickly. He stepped back, swallowing and stared.

"I -"

"007, I do not know what you are playing at but I -"

"You were dead."

"I left instructions."

"You've been dead four hundred and thirty-two," he faltered. "Fucking days."

"I gave them to -"

"We buried you."

"You should have -"

"WELL, I DIDN'T!"

Her eyes widened at his raised voice. He'd shouted plenty of times before, but never at her.

"Did Tanner know?"

"No!"

"Mallory?"

"No! Bond, be serious. Do you think they'd just let me leave?"

"You -"

"I did not design this," she snapped. "Only used it to my advantage. They wanted me out anyway."

"Your children -"

"They all knew. I said my goodbyes. John was supposed to tell you."

He dropped back against the sofa and closed his eyes. This was a nightmare. He'd stumbled into a nightmare.

"John was," he swallowed against the rising bile. "Did you," he shook his head. "Why didn't _you_ tell me?"

"I wasn't under any impression you needed to be told, 007." She hesitated and he looked up at her. "A rare mistake on my part, I see."

They just breathed for a while before he got up and started pacing. It was like all of the grief had been replaced with anger. All of that grieving, for nothing. For -

"I need a drink."

"Bond?"

He marched down the stairs and flung open the front door. The people in the street looked startled when he slammed it shut behind him but he didn't care. He didn't want to listen to her voice right now. Even though he had craved that word from her lips for so long now it just made him seeth. That she had done that to him. That she had thought so little of him that she -

He ducked into the first bar he came to and ordered as many shots as they would give him. He didn't ask what they were and he didn't care. He slammed them one after another until he couldn't remember his own name. He growled as they told him he was out of options and swung at the first person to lay a hand on him.

And then he faltered. She was standing there, watching him, with that look on her face.

"Fuck off," he said, throwing a stranger's hand off his shoulder and stumbling out on his own, into the streets.

"Bond."

"You have haunted me for," he swayed. "For -"

"Bond."

"I bought your fucking flat. You broke me and I -"

"James?"

He stopped and looked at the two of her, swaying in his vision.

"Let's go home." He stumbled away from her but her hands were surprisingly firm on his arm. "James, it's time to come home."

He was crying, he realised as she wrapped an arm around his middle and guided him back to her home. He couldn't see straight, he couldn't really hear what she was saying, but he could feel her. He could smell her.

"Don't make me carry you," she mumbled as he swayed on the stairs. He snorted, which made her chuckle as well. He'd missed that.

"Missed you," he mumbled as she sat him on the bed. "Missed you. All of you. You -"

"Hush," she said gently. "Lay back."

"Stay," he said pathetically. "I -"

"Let me change, then I will."

He couldn't wait any longer.

M was alive.

Olivia was alive.

That meant he might be alive too.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: How are we all? I think I need to think about where I'm going with this thing. I don't think I had an ending in mind, which is a bit problematic. Guess I'll spend some time figuring out now lol **

**Keep being safe and physically distant but emotionally present. Take care everyone.**

_For disclaimer, see Chapter 1._

-0-

The waking up was always the part he hated. How often had he woken up with a pounding head, a rolling gut and the memory of the smell of her everywhere.

He sat up, sighing into his hands.

"Should have kept the fucking Walther."

"Then where would we be?"

He spun, eyes wide as he took her in.

"You're -" he blinked, trying to remember. "Not a dream?"

"Christ, Bond, what the hell happened?"

"You _died_."

She looked at him and he felt so small, like he always did. And he couldn't help but love her. He was so angry with her. So unable to assign that anger anywhere because he didn't want it to touch her.

"You can be angry, Bond. I understand I made a mistake. I do make them," her lips twitched like they did when they shared a private joke. "Occasionally."

"I didn't -" He wasn't really sober enough to have this conversation, but it needed to be had. "I'm not like _him_."

"I can see that," she said with a little less harshness than he maybe deserved. "Don't dredge it up. He's dead. Good riddance."

"But you were dead."

"I am sorry, James, that John did not give you that message. I don't know why. I can't imagine why he didn't, but I _am_ sorry that he didn't."

He couldn't take his eyes off her. And she let him stare. She was so small in that bed, tucked under the covers, nestled against the pillows. He smiled.

"I," he swallowed. "Um. I bought your flat."

"So you said," she said carefully before flashing a wicked grin. "Did you enjoy looking through my drawers?"

He shook his head and she frowned.

"I didn't -" It sounded stupid now. "Didn't peek. I just -" God, he was an idiot. "Slept in the corner of the living room. Drank too much. Wished for death."

He'd whispered the last part but she'd heard him.

She always heard him.

"B- " she stopped. "James? Come back to bed." His heart beat in such a way that he lost his breath and he stared. "Come back to bed. It will be alright."

He had no idea how long he'd been asleep but she looked too put together for it to have been hours. Nevertheless, he stumbled forward and knelt on the bed, but she tugged him down so he was lying beside her. He stared at her endlessly. It took him much longer than it should have to work up the courage to touch her face. He traced her cheekbones and her nose. Her eyes met his and he leaned in, kissing her forehead and pulling her impossibly close.

"God." He sighed into her hair, vaguely remembering that he had some of her things in the case he'd brought with him. "I -"

"Later," she muttered, cupping his cheek. "Sleep."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Whoops. So, that wasn't as long as I thought it was, sorry. And, now that I've just read through this, I think this is the end of this little fic. I'll write more from this ship but I think this little toe-in-the-water fic is okay where it is. Thanks for your welcome! Can't wait to play here some more soon!**

**Enjoy nearly 3000 words of fluffy smuttness.**

_For disclaimer, see Chapter 1._

-0-

He woke to the smell of bacon and not her. It startled him until he reached out and found a pillow. He pressed his face into and breathed deeply.

Not a dream.

He got up and stumbled into the bathroom, finding a toothbrush and a simple shirt and shorts laid out for him. He'd have to get more clothes but he smiled. She wasn't kicking him out, at least.

He showered, stumbled into the kitchen and watched from the doorway. She was standing with her back to the door, a robe around her shoulders, but the ties hanging loosely by her sides. The radio was on, playing music he didn't care for but she swayed her hips just a little as she flipped the bacon that was sizzling in the pan. And then she stopped. She stood stock-still and he smiled, remembering that day that had started it all, for real.

"Where the hell have you been?" he chuckled as she turned.

"Enjoying death," she said, almost apologetically.

He was sober enough to see the irony and he nodded.

"Well, you definitely look better than I did."

She laughed and held out her hand to him. He went. As he always did when she called. She let him pull her into his arms and they stood, taking comfort from each other for a long while. An alarm sounded on the oven and she clicked her tongue.

"Sit. Sit. Breakfast is nearly ready. You look starved."

"I don't think I've eaten breakfast in -" he recalled when it was and swallowed.

"What?" she asked, sliding two eggs onto his plate.

"We," he cleared his throat. "Ate breakfast in the car. On the way to -"

He couldn't say it. Flashes of memory assaulted him. Visions of her staring. And then dropping like a stone. He raced to the sink, running the water over his head to stop them. A cool cloth was placed on the back of his head.

"I can't see that again. I should have -"

"Hush," she said gently, returning after a moment with a towel. She'd dragged a chair over and he sat in it while she dried his hair. "You did everything you were supposed to. It was my own hubris. I had not deigned to keep up with my training. I am not as fast as I once was. I was cavalier and I hurt you."

"I watched you die."

"I did die," she said gently. "Truthfully, I only started walking without a cane a month ago. It has been a long road to recovery."

He sighed, pulling her between his thighs and resting his head on her ribs.

"James, I cannot help but tell you that this is folly. You cannot -"

"Do not tell me what to do," he said gently but firmly. "Not anymore. If I'd had my gun, I would have killed myself months ago. I don't -" He looked up at her. "Don't tell me what I don't feel."

"I don't wish to apologise anymore. But know that I am sorry that you went through that. I was," she sighed as well. "So sure that you knew and had just chosen not to acknowledge it. I knew you would be angry. I was as well, when you came back. But I had hoped -"

"For what?"

She shook her head, but he had been mourning her for more than a year and he was done waiting.

"For what? Olivia?"

Her breath hitched and he stood, not letting her leave his arms.

He kissed her. Properly, this time. And after a moment's hesitation, she kissed him back. His eyes rolled back in his sockets as her hand tentatively travelled up his bicep and into his hair. He teased her gently, licking her lip and retreating until she growled and took over. He grinned as her tongue forced its way into her mouth and wrapped around hers. The noises she was making were delicious and he wanted - no - needed her to make more.

Glancing around the kitchen, he saw a bit of empty benchtop and lifted her gently onto it. She made a noise but he traced his tongue along the backs of her teeth. She made a different noise and wrapped her thighs around him.

"James," she panted as she ripped herself away from his mouth. They were breathing hard and he couldn't help but smile. Properly. "I didn't," she shook her head. "I had no idea."

"Me neither," he chuckled, tracing her cheekbones and rubbing his thumb under her swollen lip. "Not until I lost you."

"You could," she snorted. "You have had any woman you want. I am old, I don't -"

"You're it," he whispered. "I think you probably always have been."

"You," she swallowed, reaching up hesitantly to touch his face. He sighed against her hand. "Said you left Miss Swann?"

"She left me," he murmured. "Called out someone else's name a few too many times in my sleep." She blushed darkly. "The irony is, for all her education and intelligence, she couldn't see that I was losing you over and over," he shrugged. "I could only wish I dreamed of loving you."

"You have imagined -"

"I couldn't," he muttered. "Thought about it maybe. But I've only ever seen you dying."

She drew his head into her chest and held him.

"The eggs will be ruined," she muttered.

"We'll get more," he whispered, his lips against her skin. She was very still as he worked those lips up her neck, sucking gently on the skin over her pulse.

"Bond, there are practical aspects to why this won't work?"

"I'm all ears, Ma'am," he muttered, licking the spot he'd just made on her skin. "I'm very good at multitasking."

"I am old -"

"Oliv -"

"Stop," she said sternly. "Listen."

He stepped back like a petulant child and sulked as she laughed at him.

"You haven't changed a bit."

He shrugged but joined her again when she offered her hand.

"I am old and my body does not work as it once did. There are," she buried her head in his neck now. "Parts of me that do not function much, anymore. You will not be able to -"

"Christ," he groaned. "You'd think you were blushing schoolgirl," he snorted, letting her slap his shoulder for his cheek. "But, I think I understand. It doesn't matter."

"I know you," she growled. "I have seen your reports."

"You think because sex might be a little different to what I'm used to, that I'll just walk away?" he stared at her. "From you?"

"Bond -"

"Stop calling me that."

"James, the practicalities of this are -"

"Worth it."

"James."

"Are you trying to persuade me to leave? Or would you like me to show you how much it doesn't matter?" She clamped her mouth shut at that. "You don't know, do you," he smirked. "You don't know what to feel. Have I finally broken you? My Olivia?"

"Christ -" she groaned, yanking him back to her by his hair.

Her pyjamas were lovely, but he didn't waste much time unbuttoning them. She blushed as he cupped her breasts and he was amazed at how such a formidable woman could be self-conscious at the same time. Gravity had had a little effect, but he could not help but love everything about this woman. To him, she was more beautiful than any other woman on the planet.

Her breath was shaky as his lips travelled down her neck and over her chest. The angle was awkward, but he squeezed gently with one hand and trailed a path of kisses to her other nipple, kissing it softly before sucking it into his mouth.

"Fuck -"

He hummed around it and she tangled her hands in his hair again. He was annoyed that she couldn't seem to relax but he used that to his advantage. He let her nipple go with a small pop and cupped her face, kissing her again. While she was busy chasing his tongue, he reached behind him and turned off the oven, thankful for the tiny kitchen. He lifted her, pulling her tight against him and they both groaned at the new stimulus.

He stumbled his way back to the bed and lowered her down. She lay back with a calm face, but he knew those eyes. The storm in them was raging and he stared into them for a long time until he knelt over her properly and slid his hand under the back of her neck.

"You are beautiful," he whispered. "More beautiful than any woman I have ever seen."

"Now I know you're lying."

"You are real," he whispered, his nose touching hers gently. "And I love you," he shrugged.

She made a noise and kissed him again, sighing against his lips as his hand started travelling once more. He traced her thighs, stronger than he had imagined for such a small woman, up over her hips. Her arse was fantastic and he grabbed it, chuckling against her neck when she squeaked. She slapped his shoulder for good measure but he was already onto the next thing. His hand travelled to her stomach and he felt her go still. He was about to make a comment when he realised why. He sat up and looked into her eyes, his hand still.

He finally dropped his gaze and stared at the wound, still pink, but healed. He let out a shaky breath and shifted down the bed so he was face to face with it. It wasn't her only scar, but it was their scar. He closed his eyes as visions of her falling assaulted him again but this time, it was different. Her soft hand cupped his face and he opened his eyes again, finding her cradling him gently between her thighs.

"Let it go. I am alive," she said gently. He nodded and glanced back down at it. He was so focused on it, he nearly missed her next comment. "Although I'd be more alive if you'd get on with things."

"Christ, woman, I -"

She laughed, throwing her head back and he was charmed. She was utterly beautiful and he had a plan to make sure she knew it. He kissed her belly, watching it rippling softly under his lips.

"James," she whispered, sobering immediately. There was a sadness in her tone that made his heart squeeze painfully. He made his way slowly up her torso, spending a few moments sucking gently on her nipples before settling above her, on his elbow and holding her face in his hand.

"You are the strongest woman I know. And I cannot believe you're alive."

"Not so much," she muttered. "It nearly got me."

"Are we going to argue about this as well?"

"If you like?"

"You are infuriating, do you know that?"

The sadness left her eyes for a moment before there were tears to replace it.

"I have been so lonely James. I wasn't expecting that."

"I'm here."

"You have to -"

"I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere." She opened her mouth but he beat her to it. "Not for Queen and Country. For you. It was," he sighed, kissing her gently. "Only ever for you."

"Will you try and," she grappled with the world. "Make love to me?"

"Yes Ma'am," he said cheekily, making her snort. "Olivia? Yes."

She sobered and stared into his eyes as he stared right back into hers.

He kissed her with all the passion that was building in his chest. He gave her every single moment of pleasure he could think of as he moved slowly down her body. He paused back at her breasts and he made love to them gently, building and ebbing as her hips began twitching.

"James, for the love of God."

"Not very patient are you," he muttered, sucking deeply.

"Christ! James!"

Her leg twitched beside his and he realised she was still resisting. That was just like her to want to beat him at his own game.

"Oh my beautiful woman, how futile your plan is." She flashed him a look and he smiled at her. "I'm James Bond. I get all the women in the end; remember?"

There was an anger that flashed across her face but he countered it by sucking her breast into his mouth and sliding his hand under the waistband of her silk pyjamas without another thought. She groaned as he stroked her over her knickers. Cotton. Utilitarian. He didn't care. He groaned himself at the dream that was coming true.

"James. I don't -"

"Hush woman, for once in your life. Let me lead."

She snorted and wrapped her hands in his hair while he continued stroking gently. She wasn't wet, but he understood now what she'd meant. Well. There were other ways of making love.

He sat up, pulling her trousers off with little fanfare.

"It's highly uncouth for you to be fully dressed while I am here in very little more than my skin."

He smiled and pulled off his shirt. She made a noise and sat up, sliding forward so her face was level with his stomach. She unbuttoned his jeans and he stepped back and pulled them off. He hadn't been wearing underwear and the heat on her face was enough for his already hard cock to twitch.

"Come here."

He'd heard that tone of voice before and he did so, like a moth to a flame. She cupped him gently and he breathed hard when she pressed a kiss to the tip.

"I am not here for me," he said gently, cupping her cheek. "I'm here for you. Don't interrupt."

"But I'm not -"

"You have either had very poor lovers or you are a very good liar," he said gently.

She blushed and he grinned at her, daring her to answer.

"Perhaps a little of both," she admitted.

"Then let me enlighten you."

He kissed her and followed her back as she lay down. He was more forthright this time. He was sick of being interrupted. While he was making another bruise, this time on her shoulder, he pulled off her knickers and slid his hand over her centre.

"James!"

He rolled her clit, over and over, so gently she was weeping by the time he saw her pale skin turn pink.

"I love you, Olivia," he said gently. "We're home."

She came, her body wrapping around his and her voice breaking as she called his name. He kissed her gently, not letting up. He dipped his fingers lower and found that today he'd be pleasuring her, rather than making love to her.

He didn't mind. Her coming apart under his hands was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He sunk his finger inside gently, groaning as her body twitched around them.

"James I -"

"Unless you are uncomfortable and wish for me to stop, lay back," he grinned and kissed her quickly. "And think of England."

She laughed as he rolled her clit again and kissed his way down her body until he was staring, between her legs.

"James, I -"

"What did I just say?"

She made a very unladylike noise and fell back against the pillows.

"Whatever happens or not, I would like to enjoy this, if you don't mind?"

"Bollocks," she mumbled.

"We'll get to that later."

She snorted and he kissed the inside of her knee. That shut her up so he kissed higher and higher until he was a breath away from her. She stilled as he parted her lips and licked her gently.

"James!"

He grinned. And didn't stop again.

It didn't take her long to come once, then twice as he drilled his tongue in and out of her body around his finger. He wound her up once more, amazed, but thankful, at how sensual and needy his woman was. Everything he'd offered, she'd accepted and then some. As he curled his tongue upwards and slid his fingers purposefully, she took up his name as a mantra and his heart thumped as she whispered it over and over into the warm morning air.

He could feel her body tightening and he slid his free hand into hers as he sucked her clit into his mouth. She screamed his name, her thighs clamped around his ears. As he felt her channel clenching around his finger, he came, unaided and groaned into her, making her twitch violently again and again.

Her hand pushed him away gently and he went, letting her relax and resting his head on her thigh.

It didn't take him long to realise she was crying.

"Was I that bad?" he asked softly, slipping out of her gently and gathering her into his arms.

"Shut up. I -"

"I have you. Always."

He had never felt so comforted by another's body, especially after sex but this was different.

This was Olivia.

His Olivia.

He pressed a kiss to her head and felt her go heavy in his arms. He closed his eyes and followed her.

For the first time in a long time, he was at peace.


End file.
